What Happened to Daisy?
by DarkSoccerKnight7012
Summary: A heck of a lot, actually...anyway, the story is told from the rotating viewpoints of four people in my AC town, which is named VFD...Snicket allusions abound, so fans of ASoUE will have fun! R and R please!
1. J Observes K

_Hello! For those of you who have read my other stuff, be prepared for some interesting twists ahead. This one isn't epic (well...it sort of is...), nor is it fantastical (...not really...), but it is more of a character piece. It will focus on the four residents of my AC town..._

_Which, as you may notice, is called VFD. And all four of the residents of names related to the Snicket family. I have an obsession with A Series of Unfortunate Events. If you have read the books, you will get a lot more out of this. They aren't necessary to enjoy the story, but...yeah. A lot of allusions to the Series are in there. And they aren't hard to see, either. So, here goes..._

_Oh, and do I really need to remind you that I don't own Animal Crossing, or A Series of Unfortunate Events? No. But I DO for some reason need to remind you to review. Please do. If you took the time to read it, the least you can do is review it for me. Please. I beg of you.

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From the commonplace book of Jacques, aka J.

30 December 2005

_Queenie just said I had "questionable fashion sense", and then proceeded to give me two of the ugliest shirts I have ever seen. Am I missing something here?_

No one is missing more of this than I am, I'm afraid. I simply do not understand B and K's obsession with clothing. I myself own few interesting fashions. I prefer to possess little clothing other than that which facilitates my hobby of innocuous observation. If the garment allows me to remain unseen in the shadows, then it fits my criteria for acceptable garments. K and B, on the other hand, collect these colorful abominations, regardless of their value in the practice of observation–sometimes, even in defiance of it! In fact, the basements of both of their houses are completely filled with clothing of every imaginable color and pattern! And, to make things worse, they have them perfectly ordered and arranged in such a way that makes it impossible for one to, say, search the room for a sugar bowl, a secret message in a bottle, a sack of groceries disguised as a llama, or a sugar bowl disguised as a llama, or any other suspicious items.

It is just as impossible to search the other floors of their homes without them knowing. K, for instance, insists on keeping her exotically flavored home as humid as it would be in a real exotic location, and if she spots you sweating in the middle of winter, she immediately suspects you have been in her home.

B's home is just as impenetrable. If, say, you decided to try your luck at searching for her commonplace book in her living room, I would first say, "Good luck, brave soul," and then proceed to suggest a mosquito net, a gallon jug of mosquito repellent, and sunglasses, as any adventurer that walks through her front door is bound to need all of the above. The house is filled with mosquitoes, which, according to her commonplace book–which I read after unwittingly entering her home the day after she had set the buggers free–are present to "make you feel as though you really are in the tropics". Well, if the tropics are as messy, mosquito-infested, and sugar bowl-less as her home, never buy me a train ticket!

As I write this, I am disguised as a tree, shivering in the brutal cold of the VFD winter, watching as K talks to her "friend", Daisy. As you may have noticed, I have placed the word friend in quotation marks, which–in most cases–means that the author is using a connotation for the word instead of a denotation. In this case, my connotation for the word friend is "an invisible and thoroughly nonexistent entity that lives only in the mind of K". You see, Daisy left the organization two years ago and moved out of town, citing an extremely debilitating case of fleas. K was heartbroken at her friend's departure, and exhibited her very first "arsonist" tendency by burning her friend's old house down, claiming it was a "funeral pyre". The next day, she bought Tom Nook out of flowers, planting them all in the ashes of Daisy's house. Ever since, she has visited Daisy's "grave" each and every day, talking to her friend, as if she is sitting right in front of her, possibly sweetening it with sugar from the aforementioned sugar bowl.

I only mention the sugar bowl in relation to Daisy because she was the bearer of the secret artifact up until the day she left. In the aftermath–and before K's despicable arson of Daisy's house–many secrets were taken from her house and given to the new secret keeper, whose identity is also secret. The sugar bowl, however, was not among the secrets. Though the ashes were sent to a nearby museum for analysis, they were sent back with a letter stating that, "_This museum only deals in artifacts"_, which is a Very Frigid Declaration meaning that there was no trace of sugar among them–though it is a very rude way to reply. The Very Frigid Declaration was obviously not invented by a noble person such as myself. They were safely replaced without anyone's–especially K's–knowledge.

Oh, dear. I have just discovered that it is time for me to close this entry in my book. My observation of K will have to cease immediately, as she is currently marching towards me, her black eyes glowing like hot, hot coals of fury. I know not how she discovered my disguise, but it is time to depart before I get savagely beaten. With every step, my doom comes nearer–oh no! She's charging now, like the enraged bulls of a town called Madrid do through the streets of that town. I think perhaps it would be a good place to go for vacation. Perhaps I should get a train ticket–oh dear, now I really must go! She's screaming, "You idiot! How dare you watch me like a sick pervert! Quit stalking me, or I'll have to report you to C!"

With that threat, I suppose I should go, before I get punched–

...too late for that. Now I should see Tom Nook. I wonder if he is selling any antibiotic ointment today. With my luck, he won't get another shipment until next week. I probably bought him all out yesterday...


	2. K Has Conflicting Emotions

_Hello again. Yes, I pulled a FE: Shadow of Bern again and put up multiple chapters to start with. Please forgive me. I wrote them all in one day, so I figured I could get away with posting them all in one day. XD Yes, this story will take place in a rotating order of viewpoints. So far, I see no reason to divert from this formula. All right then, commence the reading and reviewing._

_Oh, and if I need to tell you that I don't own AC or ASoUE, then you are a insert your own insult here.

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From the commonplace book of Kit, aka K.

30 December 2005

ARRRGH! I could just about kill J right now! Not only did he sneak around my house again last night, but he was watching me today by Daisy's grave! The nerve of him! Right now, my blood is as hot as the steaming mug of tea setting on a coaster on the end table beside me.

I can usually deal with him snooping around my house. It's not as though he'll find what he's looking for. B is the only one who knows where Daisy's precious sugar bowl is, and she certaintly isn't telling–even through my persistent efforts. But I can only be mad at once person at a time.

J's snooping is unnerving, but not enough to make me really mad. What makes me mad is how he stalks me–or, excuse me, "observes" me. Observing has nothing to do with it. Observing can be done occasionally, and can be done to more than one person, as stated in the Very Factual Diatribe on Observations. No, what he does is stalking, and it makes me livid! For instance, today, just before I came back to my house–and prior to me punching him–he had been dressed in brown, with a green fluffy hat–a pathetic attempt at disguising himself as a tree. He didn't even bother to use the Veiled Facial Disguises! Not only was he dressed obnoxiously, but he was simultaneously stretching his arms to make them look like branches–an attempt that failed miserably–and writing about me!

Not only was he distracting me, but he was destroying the sacred feeling of my time at Daisy's grave. Ever since "she" forced her to leave and burned her house to the ground, I have tried to remember the friend I once had, before she was stolen from me during K.K. Slider's Very Frightful Dirge. I still remember watching from the shadows as my poor friend, devoid of her trademark umbrella in the shape of a Very Fine Doily, stood in the rain and then was forced to board the train to Timbuktu against her will.

Now, J is convinced that it was I that burned her house to ground, as well as I that possess the sugar bowl. Of course, neither is true, but never mind the truth. J can't see past the end of his philosophical nose. Heck, he couldn't even stop writing about God-alone-knows-what as I ran at him and punched him. What an idiot.

I sigh miserably now at the thought of Daisy, cooped up in some thatch hut in Timbuktu, without her friends, her precious umbrella, or the secrets contained within the sugar bowl. There was no reason for her to be parted with it. That was all B's doing, the dastardly witch that she is.

...It's snowing now. Of course it is. It always snows when I think of Daisy, for some reason. I'd like to think that "the Man", as Lemony calls him, watches over me and gives me snow to help me remember her by. It's just so pretty, and her favorite Very Fine Doily pattern was that of a snowflake...

I think I should go talk to Sydney. She and Daisy were best friends as well, and she knows a lot about snowflakes. Maybe the talk of pretty snowflakes can make even these dark thoughts sparkle.

...I wonder if Stu is still awake. He might have gone to bed early–he always has a cold in the wintertime. Maybe I'll walk over there and talk to him, if his lights are still on. I'll just have to be careful–J and B both have spies around his house, and I don't want them to make Stu leave like they did Daisy...

On second thought, maybe I'll go tomorrow. Stu said he wasn't feeling too well, so he wouldn't be going to the New Year's celebration. Maybe I'll go talk to him while everyone else is by the Wishing Well. Oh, and I could bring him some soup! Yes, that's what I'll do...


	3. Paranoia from L

_Short A/N here (I'm getting tired of typing a whole bunch of these things in a row). If you think this should be a crossover, I'm sorry, but I disagree. It is set entirely in AC, and the allusions aren't necessary to the story, and the characters are only namesakes. There is my inevitable rebuttal._

_Oh, and I don't own AC. Duh. Nor do I own ASoUE. So get over it.

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From the Commonplace book of Lemony, aka L.

30 December 2005

1645 hours

Last lunar cycle of the year

All's quiet on the home front tonight. From my window tonight, not a soul stirs as the sun sets...

But I know better. I know that somewhere, high above or down below, everywhere and nowhere, the Man is here. But I'm ready for him. I'm waiting.

My wireless transceiver sits beside me on the floor. If I feel the need, I can duck down from my window and hide from him. It should tell me if there is any suspicious activity around town. It's tuned to detect supernatural disturbances, as well as farts. Why, I don't know, but it just does.

Goose gave it to me. That darn goose is handy with technology and electronic stuff, and he agrees with my theories about the Man. He has seen some of the strange stuff that goes on in this town, too. He heard about the vanishing of Patty on 21 August 2003 in broad daylight. Even though he doesn't remember a cow by the name of Patty ever living here, he does remember her vanishing. Which is odd, of course, but leave it to the Man to create strange disturbances.

The transceiver is still showing no activity. Blast. I was hoping to go on the hunt for the man tonight. I even have my Very Fancy Dish ready to wear, in order to send the Man's mind-control rays back at him. I know it's the only way I've stayed sane in this town. Everyone else around here scoffs at me, but I know the truth. I know...about the Man.

I think he knows that I know about him, too. I think he knows that I know that he knows that I know. And I think he's okay with that, however strange that sounds. I don't know why. It's all a part of his master scheme, as scheme that blows everything B can conjure up out of the proverbial water.

Speaking of the water, why does it always flow down towards the ocean? Why doesn't it flow upward, towards the central lake around which all towns in our world are built. Very disturbing...

Wait. The transceiver is detecting strange activity around Goose's house. Oh no, this is very bad. The last time it was going haywire like this was...last week, when Goose let a big one beside Lobo's house and Lobo nearly strangled him. I should go and tell Booker. Officer Copper won't care, but Booker will. He always agrees with me, no matter what I say...I think his strange behavior can be explained, too. I think his brain has been addled by too many of the Man's mind wipes. Of course, he agrees with me, so it must be true, and he can remember some of that.

In case you find this, and wonder why I'm writing all this stuff about the Man and not being scared to death of disappearing in the middle of the night, it's okay. I have coated my roof, my walls, my windows, and the entire inside and outside of my house with industrial-strength tin foil. Goose insists that it will keep out cosmic entities. Booker agrees. Just in case the Man does get inside my house, though, I have a hat of the same material, so he can't get into my mind. That could be disastrous; without me, the world may never know what I know about the Man. And that could be the world's undoing.

I guess it's true, then, that everyone destined to save the world is alone. Look at Tom Nook. Though he has his nephews, they're always chatting amongst themselves. The poor guy is all alone. At least he has his mission to save the world by making sure it's prepared for every possible impending disaster. It is an admirable goal, and I admire him for working to achieve it...whether he'll admit it or not. (I think somewhere, in his subconsciousness, a part of him is secretly rebelling against the Man's mind control, and Nookington's is the fruit of that secret labor...)

Ah! The transceiver is going berserk again! It looks like I must venture out into the unknown yet again. Wish me luck, and if I don't survive–keep this information secret. The Man can't know that I know that he knows that I know.


End file.
